I'm Back: The killer is running out of places to hide

By Marion Hughes

True to her word, Angelina Lorenzo sets out to exact her revenge on those next on her list. But police are closing in, and she is running out of places to hide.

Killing has been easy up until the failed attempt on her sister's life. This time, there will be no mistakes. She hires an assassin, who unwittingly finds himself caught in Angelin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sid Harta Publishers
• Release date: Sep 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645576283

Marion Hughes

Marion Hughes lives on the Mornington Peninsula, Victoria, Australia.

Book preview

1

It was 4 a.m. Two black-clad figures climbed out of an SUV parked in a narrow back street and crossed the main road onto the esplanade. One carried a medium-sized backpack.

The icy wind swirled as they headed towards the hazy, yellow lights of the marina.

‘Shit, it’s cold. I’d forgotten how fucking cold this place gets in winter.’

‘Not your go, Ava?’ There was a pause. ‘That’s what you want me to call you, isn’t it?’

There was a nod.

‘Not your real name though, is it?’

His companion stopped and glared at him with an icy expression.

‘Let’s get one thing straight. Nothing about me is any of your goddamned business. And that’s the way I like things kept. Understood?’

There was a shrug. ‘Your call.’

Angelina was used to working alone but, like it or not, from here on in she required someone else, someone with the expertise she lacked.

‘I’m paying you big money to do this job,’ she snapped. ‘I could have chosen anyone but Rodriguez said you were the best. Just stick to your job, do as I ask and we’ll get along fine.’

She reached for her hoodie and set off once more at a brisker pace.

Nic Drakos said nothing, but inwardly he was seething. He had nothing against women. The ones he’d worked alongside had been nothing short of efficient and reliable. There was no doubt this woman could hold her own, but he was used to calling the shots. It’s only a night’s work, he reminded himself. You can put up with her crap for that long.

The fee she offered made it well worth the effort. Nic had checked his online banking account before he left to pick her up. Half the money had already been deposited, with the remainder to follow on completion. Good money for a relatively low-risk job. Nonetheless, he’d already made up his mind on one thing. If she was to seek his services again, he’d be doing it alone and on his terms.

All was quiet as they approached the marina security gates. A brief smile crossed Angelina’s face as she pulled her father’s red fob out of her pocket. Nic gave the nod, and they pulled black scarves from their pockets, tying them around their faces. It should be a relatively simple procedure. The woman knew the place back to front: the location of the CCTV cameras, and the times the security guards made their rounds. It was the middle of winter, with conditions far from ideal for sailing. Few, if any owners would be staying on their yachts, except the target of course.

What in hell had the poor bastard done? he wondered.

He cast a quick look around the marina and checked his watch. ‘It’s 4.10 now. I want to be out of here in twenty minutes. Let’s go.’

Angelina was surprised at how agile he was for his bulk. Around six-foot-three, he moved alongside her with the stealth of a cat. The yacht was the last on the track, well away from the nearest CCTV camera that they’d passed with heads bowed.

Nic gave a low whistle as they approached the Jennifer, a sixty-five metre double-masted Herreshoff schooner. What he’d give to own something like that. Shit, what was with this woman, he found himself wondering. Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out what he needed and stepped on board. Taking the lid off the jerry can he splashed petrol over the deck and jumped off as sure footed as an ibex onto the fixed walkway beside her. He lit a match.

‘Get back,’ he said. ‘Be ready to get the hell out of here.’

Angelina’s eyes were fixed on the scrolled letters: Jennifer on the hull.

‘I want to watch, first. Watch him die.’

Nic wondered if he’d heard correctly as he threw the cigarette onto the deck, which was alight within seconds. As flames shot high into the sky, he was sure he heard a scream above the roar. Below deck, a man’s face appeared, terrified, mouth open. Angelina locked her eyes on his, as his hands clawed at the window and slid down. He was gone.

A fireball of orange and black exploded into the night sky.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Now we can go.’

They ran.

2

Apart from Lee Farrell, the only regulars at the marina that night were a couple and their two children. It was the youngest’s fifth birthday, and their father had promised a sleepover on their yacht. The family awoke to the explosion. Scrambling out of their beds, they rushed up on deck, by which time the Jennifer was fully engulfed in flames.

‘Shit!’ The father ducked below the hatch and into the galley to grab his phone.

It took six minutes for the fire brigade to arrive and by that time the Lorenzo family’s yacht was destroyed. A team of firefighters quickly set to with their hoses, pumping water over the burnt-out vessel and those nearby. During the ensuing search of the boat, a man’s charred body was discovered.

‘This could’ve been a lot worse if we hadn’t got here when we did,’ the lieutenant remarked to his offsider, a young recruit not long on the job. ‘I hate to think how many mills are sitting on the moorings out there.’

‘How many boats can this place hold?’

‘Around two hundred and fifty.’

‘Geez, that many. Do you get many call-outs here?’

‘Not really. It’d have to be a year or so since the last.’

‘What do you think caused this one?’

There was a shrug. ‘Who knows. An insurance job, perhaps. It’s often the case with boats. Maybe the poor bugger below botched things. It’s not unheard of.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘This whole area will remain a crime scene until the Arson Investigation Unit has done its job.’

He looked at the crowd of growing people behind the yellow and red police tape.

‘Can’t help themselves.’ His face was grim. ‘They seem to come out of the woodwork.’

‘Where from at this hour?’

‘Local residents probably, or those driving past. Then, there’s the boat owners who live close by. It doesn’t take long for word to get around these days.’

‘You brought your bags, didn’t you?’ Angelina asked as they headed out of the city.

‘Yeah. So where are we going?’

‘The Prom.’

‘What? You mean Wilson’s Prom?’

‘Yep.’

He shot her a sideways glance. ‘Why there? That’s hours from here.’

‘Best to get as far away from the city as we can,’ she said. ‘The Tidal River campsite is all but deserted at this time of year. You do know where it is, I hope.’

‘Yeah, we went there sometimes when I was a kid.’

‘Good.’

She settled down in her seat. ‘I’ve booked two one-bedroomed apartments. And then in the morning, we split.’

‘So, you want me to drop you off somewhere once we’ve checked out?’

‘No. I’ve organised all that.’ There was a pause. ‘Can you turn on some music? Right now, I don’t feel like talking.’

That suited Nic fine. The last thing he felt like was superficial, small talk to pass the time.

He activated the Bluetooth audio.

Angelina closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. ‘Let me know when we reach Leongatha,’ she said, ‘and we can drop by the supermarket for food and supplies. There’s not much choice at the campsite.’

As they headed out of town, Nic reflected on the night’s events.

Fire. It was the worst way he could think of to die. He would have preferred to prise open the hatch, step down into the galley and shoot the guy while he slept. But she had her reasons. And he had his money.

Right now, that came as little comfort.

If only he hadn’t seen the guy’s face. If he’d have been working alone, he’d have been well on the way out once the match was thrown. The target would most likely die of smoke inhalation before the explosion hit, he’d reason …

But what was done was done.

Living with it would be another story …

What disturbed him most was the calm, cold look on the face of the woman sitting beside him, as she watched the guy burn. Unlike him, she’d chosen to stay …

Nic’s preferred method was sniping when it came to a contract kill; a simple long-range shot followed by a quick getaway. It made things easier somehow. No face-to-face contact. No close-up images to haunt him later on. Plus, he was damned good at it. One of the best. That’s why he got to pick and choose jobs.

Spending time on his uncle’s farm as a child, he learned the necessity of killing and, to a certain extent, had become desensitised. At the age of six, he watched a suffering cow being put down. One shot between the eyes and death was instantaneous. It was the kindest way, he was told. The cow wouldn’t feel a thing. Although killing a cow was a far cry from contract killing, he approached his job with the same level of expediency and precision. There were no stuff-ups.

Nic only fell into the killing business. At the age of twenty, he took on a partnership in a gym, and when that folded, he became a security guard, drifting from job to job. The pay was lousy. Big money could be made as a hitman, so he acquainted himself with criminal underworld figures, watching and learning — eventually teaming up with a crack sniper trained in the armed forces. Becoming a part of an organised crime group was another thing. Nic had to earn their trust.

Living with an assassin did not sit well with his young wife, regardless of the money.

One day, she left.

Nic didn’t blame her. They were spending more time apart; there was always a chance he would not even make it home at all. But he found the money too hard to resist. Money that was stashed in offshore accounts as soon as it was made. He planned to be out of the game and set up in a foreign country somewhere in the not-too-distant future. A beach villa, perhaps? He rubbed the back of his neck. If only it was that easy. It was one thing to become part of ‘The Family’. Leaving was another thing altogether.

He glanced at the sleeping woman beside him. She was beautiful. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed this on their first encounter four nights ago. Perhaps it was because they’d met in a small, dark bar, and her expression had been purely business-like and cold. But right now he noticed her long eyelashes, olive complexion, and thick, dark hair that was swept up in a loose bun, enhancing her high cheekbones. Would have to be of Latin American descent, he found himself thinking. Could be a member of any of the organised crime gangs he worked for. However, her accent was Australian, with not a hint of Spanish. She was going to a great deal of trouble not to be traced, he thought, as he looked at his GPS which showed only thirty kilometres to Leongatha.

Once they reached the main street, he pulled off into the supermarket car park and cut the engine.

He gave Angelina’s shoulder a gentle shake. ‘We’re here.’

‘Huh? Already?’ Angelina rubbed her eyes as she sat up.

‘Must’ve been tired. It’s not like me to sleep like that.’

‘How long since you last slept?’

‘It’d have to be over twenty-four hours.’

‘Yeah, about the same for me.’

‘Aren’t you stuffed?’ she asked.

‘You get used to it. Comes with the job,’ Nic replied. ‘But I could down a coffee, that’s for sure.’

‘Me too. There’s a bakery in the main drag. They make good coffee,’ Angelina said. ‘We can stop by once we’re finished here.’

As they drove the final twenty kilometres to Tidal River, the early morning sun caught the top of Mt Oberon, towering above like a colossus. Clumps of coastal Ti-tree and Banksia stretched for miles, with no sight of human habitation, and an expanse of water glittered in the distance. He’d forgotten how beautiful this place was. Little seemed to have changed over the years.

The previous six months had been spent cooped up in city high-rise apartments owned by The Family. He never stayed in one place for long, moving from one city to another, depending on the job at hand. Each place seemed no different to the last. The moment he stepped out onto the street, he was met by a sea of people, mobiles pressed against their ears, faces strained and drawn. The air always felt thick and oppressive and the towering buildings let in little light. The constant stream of traffic and honking of horns added to the feeling of claustrophobia.

The scene that lay ahead lifted his soul, and despite his weariness, he felt better than he had in months. God, I’m glad she brought me here, he thought, even if it’s only for one night. Extending his stay wasn’t worth the risk. He’d managed to go unnoticed so far, and he intended to keep things that way.

The setting gave him a new perspective. A yearning to move on sooner than planned. Get back to the simple things. Fresh air and nature. Another two years, he decided. Then he’d call it quits.

At the Tidal River campsite, they pulled up at the main office. Angelina reached for a pair of dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. ‘You wait here,’ she said, ‘and I’ll get our room keys.’

He was glad she’d booked separate units. He was feeling tetchy and could do with a good sleep. He didn’t know what he might say if she pushed too far.

They drove around to the car park where the one-bedroom units lay. As he opened the back of the SUV to retrieve their belongings, he observed the small, blue and black backpack in the corner. It made him think of a forgotten overnight bag in a departure lounge. He’d never known a woman to travel with so little luggage, but he held his tongue. He wasn’t about to risk an angry response. One more day, he reasoned, and he was out of there. He reached over and pulled it out, along with his sports bag.

‘Let’s get these in first,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come back for the food.’

She nodded.

Their units were the last two of six set in a clearing, surrounded by native scrub. Mt Bishop looming large in the distance and two bright green and scarlet lorikeets perched on the branch of a nearby tree, could have been a scene in a wildlife calendar. Angelina glanced around and nodded with approval. ‘Good. We’ve got the place to ourselves. I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of some sleep.’

He nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

‘I’ll join you for dinner if you want,’ she remarked.

‘Fine by me. What time?’

‘Make it around seven.’

The rooms were spacious, with timber sundecks and barbeque areas, not that they would be spending time outside. Even at this early hour the air was chilly, despite the occasional ray of sunlight peeking through the trees. He reckoned that the split air conditioner on the wall would be welcome at night and the cupboards held ample spare blankets. Right now, all he needed was a hot shower and a good sleep.

It was already 4 p.m. when he awoke. Throwing off the blanket, he rose and changed into his tracksuit and runners. He could hardly wait to get out into the fresh air and hit the track. It had been a long time since he’d had the freedom to go out anywhere without looking over his shoulder. He strained to think of the last time he’d gone on a holiday — enjoying what everyone else enjoyed, leisurely breakfasts, running along the beach, of perhaps taking a dip in the pool. He frowned. It would have been eight years since he’d spent time with Kelly, in the Daintree.

At seven, there was a knock on the door. Angelina stood, dressed in active gear and runners, her pink and white top emphasising her olive skin and exotic looks. Transfixed, Nic stood by to let her pass. But it was the smile that caused his heart to almost stop. The first smile he’d seen.

‘Can I sit anywhere?’ she asked.

‘Go for it.’

She walked gracefully across the room to a sofa and sat, one leg tucked under the other, watching him. ‘Oh, man. That sleep was good,’ she said, bubbling with exuberance.

He settled in the seat facing hers.

For several minutes, Nic listened in amusement as she chatted on about nothing in particular, barely pausing for breath. He could scarcely believe she was the moody, curt woman of the previous day. She paused as if she had read his mind.

‘I was a bitch yesterday, wasn’t I,’ she remarked.

‘No.’ His response was guarded. ‘It was clear you had things on your mind.’

‘Maybe, but I could have behaved better. It wasn’t like me, and I apologise.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Thanks.’ Another one of those smiles, and Nic felt his legs go weak.

‘I haven’t even offered you a drink,’ he said too quickly.

‘Sounds good.’

‘I only bought a six-pack, sorry. I didn’t think to ask if you wanted something from the bottle shop.’

‘A beer’s fine, then let’s get the barbeque fired up. I’m starving.’

Nic watched her through the window as she cut up the salad and set the table inside. It had been so long since he’d been in this situation. He’d dated a few women since Kelly, but he was careful not to take them back to his apartment. A tantalising mixture of steak, onions and mushrooms rose from the hotplate, and he smiled. It brought back memories of summer evenings on the farm when neighbours dropped by for a beer and barbeque. What about her family, he wondered. Where had she grown up?

It was eleven when Angelina rose from the table. The night had gone way too fast for Nic. She extended her hand. It felt cool and soft in his.

‘I’ve enjoyed your company, Nic.’ She held his eyes. ‘Thanks. I won’t be seeing you in the morning. You can drop off the keys at the office before you go.’

He felt like blurting out, ‘Can I see you again, sometime?’ But he said nothing.

After she’d gone, he took out another beer from the fridge and sat where she’d just been. Closing his eyes for a few moments, he took in the faint trace of her perfume; the nearness of her.

3

Angelina’s blinds were still drawn when he rose and packed. He hoped to catch a glimpse; say goodbye, but there was no sign of movement. Intrigued as to who would be picking her up, he decided to stay and watch. At the main office he handed in his key, then drove to where the campsites lay and parked his car amongst some others under the trees. Then edging his way back to her unit, he found a secluded spot and waited. Checkout time was 10 a.m. He glanced at his iPhone. Not long to go.

At 9.45 Angelina appeared in the same clothes as the night before, backpack slung over her shoulders. But this time, she wore hiking shoes. He followed at a distance. She was heading towards the track that led to Sealers Cove, two or so hours away. There was only one way in and out. Someone was picking her up by boat. But who? And where was she being taken?

The track to Sealers Cove was one of the National Park’s most popular, particularly during the tourist season when groups of hikers set off, sometimes with camping gear, to stay the night on the sheltered beach and enjoy the picturesque setting. Surrounding the track was a mass of green foliage, native trees and ferns providing a scene of tranquillity and peace. But not Angelina. She didn’t notice the shafts of sunlight seeping through the light green canopy or hear the incessant chattering of birds against the stillness. She pressed on, eyes hard, striking the ground in even, fast footfalls, thinking of what lay ahead. A sleeping lizard woke in alarm and managed to scuttle. As she headed down the final section of boardwalk leading to the beach, she hoped the place would be deserted. She didn’t feel like facing glib comments from passers-by and the last thing she wanted was to be spotted leaving by boat.

She was in luck.

The vessel was already moored ten metres out. With a quick scan of the beach, she pulled off her hiking boots and socks, rolled up her leggings and waded out.

‘Good timing, Seb,’ she said as she climbed aboard.

‘I knew you’d be early,’ he responded, pulling up the anchor and starting the engine.

‘Did you organise the car?’

‘Yeah. It’s been dropped off at the farmhouse.’

Neither spoke during the twenty-minute trip to